


Wherever I'm with You

by fan_girlish



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: (everybody gets one), Danvers Sisters, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Post 2x19, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, So be safe, Trauma Recovery, and lots of introspection on trauma, everybody needs a hug, just my fave gals supporting each other, pretty angsty not gonna lie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-10-28 21:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10840014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fan_girlish/pseuds/fan_girlish
Summary: Kara is struggling after the events of 2x19 “Alex.” Maggie and Alex are too, but they have a little more experience with this kind of trauma. Maybe together the three of them can start to heal.or, a much needed follow-up to 2x19 wherein Alex and Kara actually get to talk, they all acknowledge their trauma, and together they help each other heal.





	Wherever I'm with You

**Author's Note:**

> I liked a lot of things about 2x19, but there were a lot of things I didn't like, too. Especially (and in line with my general complaints about season 2), I felt like the relationships between characters (esp. non-romantic relationships) and characterizations were really neglected. I loved a lot of the sanvers moments, but as has often been the case this season the relationship between Kara and Alex was pretty much sidelined. And I didn't love the cheap drama between Kara and Maggie. At all. 
> 
> This is my attempt to rectify some of those failings while mostly complying with cannon (with the exception of ignoring Mon-El for the most part-- he's briefly mentioned but not in a terribly positive light, because my girls Alex and Maggie dislike him dating Kara about as much as the rest of us). And then it just snowballed from there and turned into a huge, introspective mess on trauma and healing. I don't know. Enjoy!

 

It wasn’t her first time being kidnapped. Alex takes a deep breath.

 

It wasn’t her first time being tortured. Lets it out.

 

It wasn’t even her first time nearly drowning. In again.

 

But it was the first time the edges of her vision darkened. The first time she took a last breath, knowing deep down it would be her last. The first time she wondered how the people she left behind would ever recover.

 

Her breath shudders out against her shaking diaphragm. She presses her palm to her ribs, trying to force the organs under them to move, to just  _move_.

 

_Just breathe, damn it._

 

She doesn’t understand why this time, _this time_ , is any different? The DEO practically had an ‘Alex Danvers has been kidnapped and leveraged against Supergirl and / or the Director’ action plan, for God’s sake. Of course, that hadn’t turned out to help all the much—hijacked tracker notwithstanding—and she knows there are parts of that she can’t deal with yet, that she needs to push deep, deep back into the shadowed recesses of her mind until she can face them.

 

(Because he had watched them. Maggie hadn’t wanted to tell her, but Alex had known it had to be something like that, because how else could he know?

 

He had watched them. God, he had _watched_ them and tracked them and stalked them, and how is she supposed to feel safe in her home after that? safe in her skin? She doesn’t know, she doesn’t know, so she pushes it down.)

 

But she still can’t breathe, and she doesn’t know why this time is different, _goddamnit_.

 

(She knows. Of course she knows.

 

She came so close to losing it all. She has so much more to lose.)

 

She wants to tell herself to get up, get up, _just get up Danvers_ , but she can’t force this. So she’s stuck here on the floor, prisoner to her own fucked up body that just won’t breathe or move like she wants it to, and why, for what?

 

She had told Maggie that she knew they were coming, that they would save her. And that was true—at first—because Kara always saved her, always. Even when Alex didn’t want her to, even when it meant putting herself in danger or using her powers and coming out as Supergirl, Kara always saved her. And now there was Maggie, too, Maggie who had said _ride or die_ for something less than this, and between the two of them—even if she told them not to—she knew they would save her.

 

She knew.

 

But then the water was rising and her legs were getting weak and the extra air she’d filled in her pants was running out and and and

 

It wasn’t the first time Alex Danvers had faced death head on, but it was the first time she was scared to go. It was the first time she really believed it was coming and there wouldn’t be an out.

 

And then Maggie and Kara were there, and she was safe—and freezing and breathless and still so, so scared, but _safe_. Safe in the arms of her two favorite people.

 

There wasn’t that much wrong with her physically, aside from oxygen deprivation, exhaustion, and borderline hypothermia. So, okay, there had been a few things wrong with her, but nothing several hours in the DEO medbay and orders to rest hadn’t helped.

 

(She’d had worse. I mean, God, in those first few years with Kara she’d had worse just from playing with her sister—not that she hadn’t hidden those injuries half the time, because it wasn’t like her parents had needed anything more to worry about or Kara had needed anything else to feel guilty for. So a little oxygen deprivation? borderline hypothermia? That was child's play to Alex Danvers.)

 

Mentally and emotionally, though? Well that’s a different story. She had been an agent, been kidnapped enough times, to know the protocol for agents after on-the-job trauma. Mandated therapy and desk-duty until complete recovery and being signed off for field duty by said therapist. She knows the drill, and she knows come Monday, after she’s finished her leave of absence from the DEO, she’ll be expected to show up for therapy.

 

Of course, as far as Alex is concerned, the best therapy she’s ever going to get was the look on Rick Malverne’s face when she socked him dead on the nose.

 

_Priceless._

 

Give her ten minutes in a room alone with him—no cameras, no witnesses—and she’d be right back to her old self.

 

But that's not currently an option, and the rest—the trauma—it’s all old hat, so Alex doesn’t understand why now—almost a full day after being rescued, after meds and sleep and holding Maggie and finally being _safe_ —why now she’s breaking apart.

 

She had thought—not that she got off fine, she knows there’ll be nightmares and flashbacks and fears she can’t even foresee yet—but at least that this wouldn’t be that much worse than anything she’d faced before. And the meds had dulled things a little, and she knew she was repressing some, sure, but things had seemed okay. Mostly okay. Okay as could be expected.

 

Then there was a nightmare—not even a bad one, really—and she’d settled on a drink of water to help calm her down.

 

A drink. That was all.

 

She had slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Maggie who’s almost as exhausted as her, but trying to hide it, and walked to the kitchen. She’d grabbed a glass. She’d turned on the tap.

 

Then, the sound of rushing water.

 

And it was like she was back in the tank again, the seconds ticking down, the water rushing in. It was filling her throat, and she couldn’t keep kicking for much longer, and she was drowning. Drowning _again_. And the water was everywhere and she couldn't breathe, she couldn't _breathe_. 

 

The glass had clattered—jarringly loud—against the sink. Her hand had jerked reflexively, muscles spasming violently, and something snapped.

 

She was sinking to the floor, curling in on herself, and she knew where she was, knew she wasn’t really back there.

 

But she still couldn’t breathe.

 

And now here she is, cowed by a kitchen sink.

 

It’s ridiculous.

 

It’s unreasonable.

 

It’s humiliating.

 

It’s how Maggie finds her ten minutes later.

 

 

********************

 

 

It’s going to be days and weeks and months of finding a new normal, of waking up to Alex’s screams and discovering her triggers, of holding her too tight so Maggie remembers she’s alive, she’s alive, she’s alive goddamnit, of panicking every time she wakes up alone or Alex takes too long to respond to a text.

 

Maggie knows this, is prepared for this—as prepared as she can be, anyway.

 

Maggie’s no stranger to trauma—even if this is different, so different than any she’s faced before.

 

(Like raised voices and harsh words, like hearing she’s not good enough anytime she wasn’t exactly what they wanted her to be, like being kicked out at fourteen because she made a mistake about who to trust.)

 

Because this is Alex (who she loves, who she _loves_ ) and this was kidnapping and torture and almost losing each other.

 

So Maggie has been waiting, and she’s been watching, ready for her to break.

 

Breaking is never easy, but until the break there's no moving on. You can’t fit the pieces back together when you’re still trying to hold on, and you can’t even begin to heal until you let yourself acknowledge just how much there is to heal from.

 

And Alex is so strong, so loathe to show too much emotion, any weakness, that she’s holding on tight to whatever balance she’s found. They’re too much alike in that way, but Alex has always been able to be soft for Maggie (and she’s learning to do the same for her), and Maggie’s determined to be here, waiting and solid, to catch the pieces when she falls.

 

It’s been less than twenty four hours since the rescue, most of them devoted to sleep. That was what the doctor ordered, along with the pain meds that have kept Alex pretty knocked out, and even though Maggie isn’t nearly as tired after that first night, she hasn’t stopped touching her for even one moment since they’ve been home.

 

She just needs to feel Alex’s warmth next to her, needs to remind herself that Alex is safe and alive, and she may not be okay yet, but she will be. She will be.

 

Which is why when she wakes up after a nap in the late morning, and the bed beside her is empty and warm, she can’t quite tamp down the swell of panic before it overtakes her. Her breath hitches in her chest.

 

She’s not gone, she’s not gone, she’s not gone. Maggie _knows_ she’s not gone.

 

That was yesterday, and it happened, but they got her back, they saved her, and now she’s safe here with Maggie.

 

_(But oh God, what if she’s not?)_

 

Maggie has to take a moment—and God, it’s interminable—because she knows this panic, and this panic can cascade, can avalanche, can take all of her down with it if she doesn’t get it under control now. Because Alex is probably fine—or, not fine, but not _missing_ —but Maggie isn’t going to be if this thing, this panic gets a grip on her.

 

(And Alex had told her when she woke up screaming from a nightmare late last night, when she cried into Alex’s chest and couldn’t stop apologizing for it, that she couldn’t hide this, couldn’t hide from it. If Maggie hadn’t been sobbing so hard she would’ve said _right back at ya_ , but the point was Alex didn’t want her to pretend to be okay, to shove down all her feelings until she was numb, so _she wasn’t, she wasn’t, she wasn’t,_

 

but they couldn’t both fall apart, because then who would put them back together?) 

 

She counts her breaths, in and out, up to ten, fists the panic between her fingers and holds it tight so it can’t escape, not yet at least.

 

She slips out of bed and goes to find Alex.

 

She finds her where she expects, which is to say the kitchen.

 

What she doesn’t expect (which is to say dreads), is to find her hunched against the counter, breathing harshly, her fists pressed against her knees.

 

“Oh, Al,” Maggie breaths out, just under her breath and not quite of her own volition. It’s far too soft for her girlfriend to hear, but seeing Alex look so small, so utterly unmoored, it reminds her of that awful, endless moment when they found her floating in the tank and she thought—for just a second— _we’re too late_. It draws the words out of her unwilling. 

 

Alex hasn’t noticed her yet, and almost certainly couldn’t hear Maggie's soft exclamation over the sounds of her own ragged breathing, so Maggie approaches with measured steps, center of mass low to the ground. She’s not certain what exactly she’s facing here, they’re still unsure of what all Alex is dealing with, what triggers might set her off, what sort of episodes she might face. This could be dissociation or a flashback or a panic attack, and any one of those might require different things.

 

So Maggie goes slow, gauges Alex’s reaction at every step.

 

“Al,” she says. She keeps her voice low and firm—she doesn’t want to spook Alex, but she wants to be clearly present, doesn’t want to surprise her. “Alex?”

 

Alex still doesn’t seem to notice her presence, and that worries Maggie a little. She’s just staring dazedly at her hands, but then as Maggie draws closer Alex’s eyes flicker up to her. They’re wide and frightened, but present, and Maggie breathes a sigh of relief that her girlfriend at least seems to be aware of what's happening.

 

She crouches down a little in front of her. “Alex?” she says again.

 

Alex looks back to her hands, fisted and hard against her knees. Her voice is watery and a little petulant when she speaks. “I broke the sink,” she says, and Maggie notices for the first time that there is something fisted in her hand.

 

Maggie’s heart breaks a little. She takes a deep breath and slides down next to Alex, not touching her yet, but being close, solid.

 

Alex holds up the tapered, silver handle from the kitchen sink, snapped clean off of the fixture. “You sure did,” Maggie says. She laughs a little, shaky and abrupt, from relief.

 

It’s too loud, and the situation definitely isn’t funny, but Alex laughs too, and soon they’re both laughing and crying until they’re leaning against each other and breathing heavily.

 

Alex presses her face into Maggie’s shoulder, and Maggie shifts so that her arms are wrapped around Alex, holding her, protective and warm. “It’s not funny,” Alex says quietly, but it’s not angry, more teasing.

 

“No, it’s not,” Maggie agrees.

 

(She tries not to think of the hundred other things, _worse things_ , that she could’ve walked out into. Of Alex fractured or hurt— _or hurting herself_ —or confused or gone, gone, gone. A broken sink is nothing, _is funny_ , is fall over and break a rib laughing funny, in comparison.)

 

“I just wanted some water,” Alex says, and Maggie’s grip around her waist tightens because she knows now where this is going. “I just wanted some water and the—the stupid—I just, I couldn’t breathe, all of a sudden.”

 

Maggie kisses her shoulder, says, “I know.” 

 

“Felt like I was back there,” Alex says, and it’s not a sob, but almost, almost.

 

And God, does Maggie know. She thinks she may never trust, never truly feel certain that Alex is with her, that she isn’t far away somewhere drowning.

 

“You’re safe, you’re safe,” she says, and she isn’t sure which of them she is most trying to assure.

 

Probably, it’s both.

 

Alex wraps her arms around Maggie’s waist and cuddles in against her. Maggie tries to hold back the sob building in her chest, but she can’t quite manage it, and Alex’s arms tighten.

 

“I’m safe, we’re both safe,” Alex tells her, nuzzling against her collarbone, and if Maggie could always keep her here—resting against her heart and safe in her arms—God, she would.

 

Maggie chokes on another sob, but nods against Alex. They're safe. Alex is alive, and they're safe. 

 

“I love you." She whispers the words into Alex’s hair, because they're the best thing she can think to say. And then she says them again, because she’s sure she’ll never tire of these words, not if she and Alex are granted all their years together, not if she lives to be a hundred. “I love you, Alex Danvers.”

 

“I love you, Maggie Sawyer,” says Alex. “I love you, and we’re going to be okay.”

 

 

******************

 

 

It’s sometime later, after a midafternoon nap and Maggie insisting they both eat something even when neither of them really feel like it, that they find a nice balance, something almost like rest or peace, as they lounge, tangled against each other, on the couch.  

 

The afternoon is better, easier. Alex still seems a little out of it, both from her meds and probably the episode earlier this morning, but they’re curled up together on the couch, Maggie half paying attention to the TV, half watching Alex as she pages through some science journal and occasionally checks her phone to respond to texts from Kara and her other friends.

 

It’s nice. Normal.  

 

It’s a moment to—not forget, not pretend—but at least settle into something approximating their routine, and that’s something they both desperately need. Even with all the sleep, neither of them has really been getting any rest, so they’re still tired and dragging through the day.

 

There are a lot of conversations that need to be had in their future, but they’re both still so tired, and for now Maggie is content to just watch Alex, grateful—now and forever—that she still has Alex to watch. There will be time for the other things, difficult conversations and long days of healing, later. For now, the best thing for each of them is to take things slow and gentle, let all the pieces settle. 

 

The volume is turned almost to mute, so Maggie doesn’t so much hear as see something that draws her attention back to the screen.

 

Thick, black plumes of smoke streak out of the windows of a warehouse in one of the more rundown areas of National City. Bright, flashing lights light up the screen behind a young reporter speaking into a microphone, and firetrucks and firefighters race across the scene. 

 

“NCFD battles blaze in shipping warehouse just off harbor,” is emblazoned across the bottom of the screen.

 

Then, “Arson suspected in warehouse fire / Firefighters attempt to douse flames and evacuate nearby buildings as fire threatens to spread.”

 

The screen shows ash-streaked firefighters running toward the flames licking at the walls of the old warehouse.

 

Maggie frowns and grabs the remote to turn up the volume. Alex is too enmeshed in whatever research article she’s reading to notice, so Maggie jostles her a little to grab her attention and points to the screen.

 

Alex frowns too as they watch the scene unfold. The fire spreads to one adjacent building before the fire department is able to get it under control. A number of civilians were still trapped in the rundown apartment building as the flames reached it, and Maggie and Alex watch as they’re carried from the building to have oxygen administered by paramedics. 

 

Alex takes a moment to watch the scene, but is quickly drawn back into her reading. Maggie can't seem to look away, though, her eyes glued to the screen.

 

It’s a terrible thing in its own right, of course, but something else about it is tugging at the back of her mind. Something’s wrong, or not wrong, just missing. It’s some slight unease in the pit of her stomach. She can’t quite put her finger on it, until…

 

“Doesn’t Kara normally help out with stuff like that?” Maggie asks, gesturing toward the screen when Alex looks back up from her book with a vaguely (and adorably) confused expression.

 

It takes her a moment to connect Maggie's question with the fire on the television, but when it finally clicks she just shrugs easily. “She's probably just busy," she says. "Or maybe she’s tired. We’ve all had a pretty long week.”

 

Maggie nods, but now that she’s realized what it was that felt off, she can’t quite make herself stop thinking about it.

 

Kara does have a fulltime job, of course, and she’s kept plenty busy between that and her  _night job_ , as it were, but something about this doesn’t feel quite right.

 

Kara hardly ever misses an opportunity to help people, and sure this isn’t exactly the crisis of the century, but Supergirl’s absence is conspicuous now that’s she’s noticed it. Because if there’s one thing Maggie knows about Kara it is her deep, abiding need to help people.

 

Hell, Kara helps people even when she doesn’t _need_ to help people. She insinuates herself into any situation where people are in danger, even if other, more qualified people have the situation totally under control.

 

(And okay, maybe Maggie still has some hang-ups about a certain hostage situation, but honestly Supergirl has a thing or two to learn about subtlety and chain of command. She could’ve easily made things worse by interfering when she did, never mind the fact that she decided to swoop in at the end of a crisis situation that Maggie and other NCPD detectives had been navigating for _hours._ )

 

But that’s beside the point, because even though Maggie doesn’t always completely understand Alex’s alien little sister, she still knows that Kara’s heart is always in the right place.

 

And she knows that Kara’s heart always takes her to wherever people are in danger.

 

So if she wasn’t at that fire, there must be some reason for it.

 

 And there are any number of good reasons, valid reasons, just like Alex said. Like her job at Catco or some other Supergirl emergency or just plain old busyness. Except…

 

Except, none of that sits quite right with Maggie, because she knows enough about Kara’s abilities at this point to know that she can slip out and help in five minutes flat on the excuse of a bathroom break if she’s in the middle of something.

 

And mostly, mostly, Maggie just has a bad feeling. 

 

It was a gut instinct, The kind she's learned to heed, first as a young cop in Gotham and now as a well-respected detective with the NCPD science division, because those type of gut instincts are usually your subconscious connecting dots that your brain hasn't quite caught up to yet. It might be the heavy coat indoors hiding a pistol or the twitchy, shifting eyes of an informant about to give you up. Or your girlfriend's little sister not showing up to a fire because... because why? 

 

That's the question that's bothering Maggie. What might prevent Kara from helping out with the fire department, aside from those obvious, valid reasons that Maggie had already mostly discounted? What could be big or bad enough to keep Kara away? 

 

Alex had said she might just be tired. She'd sounded so unconcerned, so nonchalant, but...Supergirl doesn't get tired. Not like that. Does she? 

 

(That's probably the kind of information Maggie should know by now, and she makes a mental note to find out more about exactly how Kara's abilities affect her. But that's a problem for another day. Today already has enough problems to deal with.)

 

So if Kara is so tired she couldn't even show up to help with a fire, what does that mean? Maggie isn't sure, but she has a bad feeling about it. 

 

Because she and Alex had spent that past day keeping each other steady and holding each other when they couldn’t, and she remembers the intractable fear in Kara’s eyes when Alex was in danger—knows in hindsight that that is much of what drove Kara’s sometimes reckless actions while they were trying to work together to save her—and now a part of her is worried that whatever reason Kara had for not showing up at that fire, it might have less to do with Kara being Supergirl, and more to do with her being just as traumatized as the rest of them…

 

And that leaves one looming, terrible question in Maggie's mind: who's keeping Kara together? 

 

It keeps bothering Maggie, growing from discontent to real concern as the afternoon drags on. Alex gets occasional texts from Kara, but she still can't shake this feeling. She's worried. She knows that if Alex were less out of it she’d be worried too—nobody worries quite like Alex, especially when it comes to Kara.

 

And until Alex can worry again, Maggie will just have to shoulder that worry for her.

 

That’s something she can do, at least.

 

And she’s already worrying plenty—about Alex and Malverne and work and the DEO and Alex again.  

 

Why not add Kara to the list? She has plenty of worry to go around.

 

So when Alex walks back into the room after her shower, Maggie is on edge, waiting to ask the question. "Is she alone?"

 

Apropos of nothing, the question seems to have thrown Alex completely. She's blinking at Maggie in confusion. Her hair is still wrapped in a towel from the shower. 

 

(And Maggie had worried about that, too, pointed out that if the water from the kitchen sink was enough to set her off, a shower almost certainly would be, too. Alex’s compromise has been to suggest that Maggie didn’t let her shower alone, which she had been more than happy to oblige.

 

But Alex had kicked her out after a while, pointing out that she was still doing okay and that while what they were doing was very _fun_ , it wasn’t really helping her get clean. Maggie had conceded the point…after reminding Alex, again, just how fun she could be.

 

She had dried her hair and listened carefully to make sure Alex still did okay after she left, but it was quiet aside from the steady sounds of water falling across the tile of the shower, and that left Maggie with too much time to think.

 

Time for her worry about Kara started to spill over.)

 

And now, Alex is looking at her askance. “Is who alone?” she asks, leaning over slightly to finish toweling her hair dry.

 

“Kara,” says Maggie. “Is she alone today?”

 

Alex frowns, goes to put up the towel, and is slow to respond. “Mon-El is probably with her…”

 

She doesn’t sound exactly thrilled about the thought, and Maggie can’t blame her. She’s come this close to punching the little alien dudebro more than once, and if he weren’t dating Kara, well…

 

Maggie scoffs. “And that’s better?” she asks incredulously.

 

Alex pulls a face. “I can’t exactly dictate who she dates.”

 

“Debatable,” says Maggie. “But also not my point. My point is, is Kara just alone or _with Mon-El_ , today?

 

Alex comes to sit beside Maggie on the couch. Maggie’s concern seems to finally permeate, and Alex chews her lip thoughtfully. “You’re worried about her?”

 

Maggie nods. “Yeah, I am,” she says. “When she didn’t show up at the fire earlier, it got me thinking…”

 

She starts to explain what it was like when Alex was taken, the fear she felt—they _both_ felt—but more than that the conflict that had seemed like petty misunderstandings and butting heads then, but now maybe seems like something more. She tells her about the terror she’d glimpsed in Kara’s eyes in the moments she thought nobody was looking, tells her about the aimless dread that had latched on when it had seemed for a moment like all was lost.

 

By the end of it Alex is shaking her head and pressing the flat of her palms against her eyes. “God, I should’ve realized,” she says quietly.

 

Maggie rubs her back reassuringly. The last thing she had wanted was to make Alex feel guilty. “You’ve kind of had a lot going on.”

 

“No, you don’t understand, Mags,” says Alex. She straightens up to meet Maggie’ eyes. “She is one of the happiest, most optimistic people I know. She—sometimes I get annoyed at it, how sunny she is, just like everything in the world is bright and good.”

 

Maggie nods. She’s noticed.

 

“But that’s, that’s just this one side of her, because the rest of it—she’s been through more than anyone else I’ve ever known, Maggie. I mean, I know I always talk about wanting to protect her, and part of that is because she’s my little sister and because she’s an alien and there’s a lot of danger that comes with that, but it’s also…

 

“She lost her whole planet, Mags. At thirteen. Her planet, her family, her whole culture. And then she gets here expecting to take care of her little cousin, Kal, because that’s what her family told her to do—why they saved her, which don’t even get me started—but then she gets here and he’s this grown man who doesn’t need her, and instead of taking care of her, instead of taking her in, he abandons her with us.

 

“And don’t get me wrong, part of me is grateful he did, because I wouldn’t have a sister if not for him, and part of me understands he was just trying to give her a family, but God, she was just a kid and he was the only thing even remotely familiar, and I just…I still remember what it was like those first few month, when she was trying not to be a burden to us, but she was shattered on the inside and I could hear her crying at night.”

 

“God,” says Maggie, because she knew, but she didn’t _know_.

 

“She seemed so okay back at the DEO, I just assumed…”

 

Maggie considers what it would be like to lose, not just one family, but a whole world, a whole way of life. She thinks of the kind of loneliness, the kind of survivor’s guilt it might create in a person.

 

She thinks it might explains a lot about Kara.

 

(She thinks it’s probably time she actually tried to get to know Kara, beyond being the Girl of Steel, beyond being her girlfriend’s little sister, beyond that sunny exterior…)

 

 “We need to go see her,” says Maggie, and Alex is nodding and heading toward the door before she’s even finished speaking.

 

“Way ahead of you,” she says, grabbing their bags off the table and tossing the keys Maggie’s way.  

 

Alex smiles at her, and Maggie shakes her head, a wide, dimpled grin spreading across her face.They’re both exhausted still, but this is the most alive Alex has seemed all day, and Maggie thinks that maybe Kara isn’t the only one who needs to see her sister.

 

 

********************

 

 

The soft cocoon of fuzzy blankets wrapped around her shoulders and back helps Kara feel safe, present. She’s old enough to know that a blanket can’t really help protect you from the monsters underneath the bed (and that while those were childhood fantasies, there are other monsters— _worse monsters_ —that are all too real).

 

But the blankets help.

 

She could grip the worn tufts of fuzzy fabric in her fists, inhale the familiar scent of _home_ , of Midvale and Eliza and Alex and Jeremiah and those early nights when everything had been too much, too loud, and she had found a blanket from Alex’s bed and shielded herself with it.

 

Now, it helps her remember that Alex is _safe_ , Alex is _alive_.

 

And that’s good. That’s good, so she tries to focus just on that and let the other noise in her brain fade.

 

It’s not working very well, though. The blanket helps, and she’s trying to keep Alex’s steady—if still too fast—heartbeat in her focus, but there are so many other noises in National City in the evening—traffic and honking horns and kids shouting and someone singing off key in the shower and the pounding beat of hammers at the construction site downtown.

 

_Alex is safe, Alex is safe, Alex is safe._

 

She repeats it like a mantra, tries to focus on the beat of it in time with Alex’s heartbeat even when she can barely focus past the crowded noise of the city.

 

_Alex is safe._

 

But she almost wasn’t, and that…that’s on Kara.

 

Everything that had happened, everything she had gotten wrong in the heat of the moment, it's all on her, and the weight of it is pressing down on her chest and slowly crushing her. (Which is impressive considering she can practically bench-press a steel building. It takes a lot to crush the _Girl of Steel_.)

 

In the rush of everything, in the wake of Alex’s rescue, in getting her back to the DEO for medical treatment, and J’onn taking care of Rick, and Maggie holding Alex, unwilling to let her go, there just hadn’t really been time for Kara to do more than hug her sister and tell her how much she loved her, how proud she was of her.

 

What she didn’t say: _I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry._

 

Alex would’ve told her not to be, probably. That is wasn’t her fault, that it was Rick and not Kara. That Kara had done everything in her power to rescue Alex, and she had, she had.

 

But the rest of it is just so much noise, because the fact of the matter remains: Alex was kidnapped because of her—because of her carelessness as a child, because of her powers now—hurt because she couldn’t move fast enough, work hard enough, and almost died because Kara made a mistake.

 

She had been so happy with Alex safe and mostly well at the DEO, to see her sister smiling and kissing Maggie (and telling her she loved her) and punching Rick because it meant she was safe, safe, safe. _Alex was safe._

 

And more than that, Alex was still Alex. Knock her down, and she comes up angry and swinging.

 

But after, once the adrenaline of saving Alex had begun to wear off, once the joy started to fade, that's when the painful numbness began to creep in.

 

Because Alex is safe, and hurting, and Kara wants nothing more than to be there for her, to cuddle up against her and bring her hot tea and turn on a soothing movie until she falls asleep in Kara’s arms, where Kara can hold her fingers against her pulse and protect her. But Alex has Maggie now, and that’s good, it’s good, but it leaves Kara alone.

 

(Or, not alone—there’s Mon-El—except she can’t shake the echo of his _“I knew you’d be fine”_ or the lonely ache in her heart that tells her it isn’t enough. She’d sent him home, didn’t know how to explain her need for quiet or the fracturing of her heart that felt a little too much like losing everything. She doesn’t want to be alone, but she doesn’t know how to be with anyone else right now.)

 

And the one person she really needs—her sister—doesn’t need her. Oh, Kara would call her in the morning, again, and she’s texted her several times, checking on her and asking if she needs anything and sending her videos of adorable baby cats because _when wasn’t a good time for those?_

 

But beyond that? Alex has Maggie now.

 

And most days Kara is thrilled about that, but today it leaves her alone, more alone than she’s felt since the long, fragmented moments of lucidity in the phantom zone where she had floated, hazy and grief-stricken and mostly unaware for what seemed like an eternity.

 

Because Alex had almost died. Alex had almost died, and for just a moment, just a second, Kara had seen the prospect of a future without Alex, had truly believed she was going to die, and now she’s stuck in it, in that moment. The fear of it.

 

Kara had watched her sister nearly drown, and now she’s drowning, too. But she won’t lean on Alex when Alex can only barely stand.

 

Kara is Supergirl and she is strong. She'd survived the destruction of one planet, stopped the destruction of another, and she could carry this pain until it fades like all the others.

 

She _would_ carry it.

 

But tonight it’s all she can do to curl up against the waves of fear and guilt and overwhelming _noise_ as they crash over her.

 

Because Kara doesn’t really know where she fits in anymore.

 

Or, that’s not right. She doesn’t know how to fit in.

 

(Which, story of her life, right? When has she ever fit in, in all the years of being the resident weirdo as she struggled to understand Earth customs, catch up with her peers, repress her genius, her strangeness, her powers to try to seem normal?)

 

And part of it is because it’s always been just her and Alex, there were never any guys important enough to really be added in the mix (and, well, now she’s knows at least part of why that is), but it’s also because she and Maggie just don’t always seem to mesh.

 

Kara likes Maggie, she _does_ , but she doesn’t always know how to talk to her.

 

Kara can be very eloquent about a lot of things—ask her to speak about hope or heroism or quantum entanglement— but feelings and personal details that might reveal the girl of steel can not only bend, but break? those things aren’t so easy.

 

And Kara struggles sometimes, connecting those thoughts to her words, making those feelings make sense, so when Maggie had come in all aggression and guns blazing over the NCPD hostage rescues, Kara had responded as Supergirl, not Kara, because Supergirl was the one who did aggression, who did fighting and hardened opinions.

 

(Because sometimes Kara is too good at separating the part of herself into Kara Danvers and Supergirl, human and alien, mild mannered reporter and hero, and sometimes she forgets that all of those pieces are still just a part of her.) 

 

Maggie had talked about hours of work and legality and injuries and property damage, and Kara had snapped back, because all she could see, all she could remember seeing, was the hunched, shivering forms of the hostages as the criminals waved their guns at them. All she could think of was all the times she hadn’t acted preemptively, had waited to hear the click of the safety going off and hadn’t gotten there in time.

 

All she could see was how many ways those guns could render fragile human bodies dead dead dead.

 

Maggie had told her she didn’t look before she leapt, and Kara snapped that she could fly. What she hadn't told her was that Kara didn’t look because she didn’t care, that regardless of what she was leaping into, whether it was criminals or aliens or kryptonite, she would still leap headfirst.

 

So she hadn’t handled it well. She should’ve explained things better, why she has such a problem with authority, why she doesn’t always trust the people in charge, why it took her until she really knew J’onn (as J’onn and not Hank Henshaw) to trust that in his hands the DEO could actually be a force for good.

 

Why she rushes in even when it sometimes seems she doesn’t need to.

 

(You can’t watch your planet explode, everyone you’ve ever known and loved go up in flames, and not remember what caused it. You can’t smother that seedling of resentment against the people who caused it, even when they’re also the people you miss the most.

 

You can’t ever quite trust the people who say they’re acting for the greater good, when sometimes that actually means they aren’t doing anything at all.

 

Because she and Kal survived Krypton, but how many more might’ve survived if only someone had _acted_ instead of just listening, just accepting.)

 

Instead she had fought with Maggie and upset Alex and stormed out…

 

And Rao, doesn’t she wish she had just stayed, taken it or talked it out, because then maybe Alex wouldn’t have gone after her. Maybe Alex wouldn’t have been kidnapped.

 

(It’s just another way this whole thing is her fault. Watched because of her. Kidnapped because of her. Nearly drowned. Because of her.

 

All of it. All of it. _Her fault._ )

 

And she thinks she understands Maggie a little better now, at least, after working with her and arguing with her and almost losing the most important person in her life (both their lives) with her.

 

Maggie’s been through a lot, too.

 

(Because she’s not sure why or how, but she’s pretty sure she saw a reflection of that same primal fear she felt as the clock ticked down in Maggie’s eyes, and that’s not the kind of fear a person who hasn’t lost—and lost too much— can ever feel.)

 

So, she’s glad Alex has Maggie and Maggie has Alex. And maybe tomorrow she’ll feel strong enough, loud enough, _like herself enough_ to go over and see them, place herself in their lives without being asked, because deep down she knows Alex still needs her.

 

But tonight, the idea of even getting out from under this blanket to eat is too much. The idea of flying—or walking—over to Alex’s place, situating herself between them on the couch, and saying, _“I’m not okay; I need you,”_ seems insurmountable.

 

So she burrows into the couch instead, wishing she had those DEO-issue noise canceling headphones Alex gave her. But she's fairly certain the last place she had them was her bedroom and that’s an unapproachable distance at the moment, so she’s just going to have to breathe through it.

 

A knock at the door has Kara wincing. She curls more deeply into herself.

 

_Too close, too loud._

 

She can’t bear to look up, to open her eyes and see who it is— _maybe Lena? just please, Rao, not Mon-El,_ she can’t deal with him again tonight— but she forces herself to focus just enough to listen.

 

She hears two heartbeats, syncopated against each other, and the first, the closer, she immediately recognizes as Alex.

 

Her first thought is panic, and it propels her off the couch in a burst of speed. _Alex is here—why is Alex here?_ She thinks something must be wrong, but then the second heartbeat solidifies into Maggie’s—one that is becoming increasingly familiar to Kara, though not yet as easy to isolate as Alex’s.

 

“Do you think she’s here?” Maggie. Whispering. She sounds a little worried, and that makes Kara’s heart skip again because she can’t think of why Maggie might sound like that.

 

Alex doesn’t answer, but she talks through the door. “Kara? It’s me. I’m here with Maggie, can you let us in?”

 

Kara frowns, grips the blanket tighter around her neck, but then realizes that it will be a dead giveaway to her sister if she sees her wrapped up in it. She unwraps herself reluctantly and makes her way over to the door.

 

She tries to arrange her features into something serene, turns on the lights though they make her squint painfully. She takes a deep breath and opens the door with a small smile.

 

“Alex, Maggie, hey,” she says. “What are you doing here?”

 

It strikes Kara how tired Alex looks still and that Maggie doesn’t look much better. But they’re holding hands and watching Kara intently, like she’s the one that might collapse any second even though Alex is the one leaning slightly against the doorway.

 

It’s Maggie who finally answers, after glancing briefly toward Alex. “We were worried about you, Little Danvers,” she says.

 

Her heart warms a little at the familiar nickname, but she shakes it off. She checks her expression, her posture, wanting to ease their concern. They shouldn’t be worrying about _her_.

 

“You didn’t show up at that fire earlier,” says Alex. “We saw on the news.”

 

Kara blinks. Of all things, she hadn’t expected that.

 

Frankly, she's surprised anyone noticed.  

 

And if Kara had been more herself, if she’d been fine, she would’ve said something like _well I can’t be everywhere at once, Alex_ or _do you expect Supergirl to show up at every single incident and keep my job at Catco, too?_

 

But she isn’t, so instead she manages a casual wave of her hand and, “Oh, that. I was just…busy.”

 

She remembers the sirens that had sent her reeling, curled up in the corner of her closet until she’d worked herself up to reaching for the blanket on her top shelf. She remembers feeling guilty, because she wasn’t busy, she wasn’t…but the sirens had been too much, and the sound of the refrigerator whirring in the next room had been too much, and Kara couldn’t even unfurl from her position on the floor much less slip into her supersuit and pretend she was anything more than what she was.

 

Which was hurt and hurting, and anything, _anything_ but a hero.

 

She looks away from Alex’s concern and Maggie’s wide, knowing eyes. She still hasn’t invited them in, and she’s shuffling awkwardly in front of the door. Her fingers twist against her shirt, wishing she hadn’t discarded her blanket back on the couch.

 

And Alex knows immediately. “Oh, Kara,” she says with a sigh, wrapping her sister up in a firm hug.

 

Kara doesn’t try to push away, just mumbles against her shoulder, “I’m fine.”

 

Alex just holds her, and Maggie walks in, closes the door gently behind her. She places a hand on Kara’s back. “You’re not fine,” she says. “None of us is fine.”

 

Alex’s posture is weary, but her arms are hard and warm and _safe_ around Kara. It reminds her, though, that this is exactly what she’s not supposed to be doing.

 

She straightens, pulling away from Alex who just frowns at her, and wipes at her bleary eyes. The whole point of this, the whole point of _everything_ , is that Alex needs time to heal. “Shouldn’t you be resting?” she says.

 

Alex just blinks at her, like it’s an utterly ridiculous thing to say. “And I can’t rest here?” She sounds a little less tired, a little more like Alex then.

 

Kara just shakes her head slowly. She really wants her blanket.

 

She can hear Maggie doing something behind her, and Kara thinks she should probably check to see what it is she’s doing, but she can’t quite work herself up to it.

 

She wants to crawl back in Alex’s arms. She wants to beg them both to stay. She doesn’t.

 

Instead, she says, “It’s late.”

 

Alex’s response is sharp and quick, and it makes Kara wince. “Don’t do that,” she says. Kara takes a step away, and Alex, who doesn’t miss any of her sister’s tics, quickly softens, “Kara…”

 

And Alex obviously knows at this point, so she doesn’t try to hide it as she pulls her sleeves over her hands, fists the leftover fabric into her palms. Still, she looks away and says innocently, “Don’t do what?”

 

“You know what,” says Alex, stepping forward to pull Kara into her arms again. She’s quieter, though, clearly picking up on Kara’s discomfort and sensitivity. “Don’t shut me out. I’m tired and—” she waves a hand toward her head “all fucked up right now, so I need you to meet me halfway here, okay?”

 

Kara presses her fists into her eyes until she sees stars, but nods, and let’s herself be held by Alex, because it’s the only thing she really wants. She presses her ear against Alex’s neck where her pulse is strong and steady. She lets herself sink into the embrace.

 

Alex’s fingers grip into the muscles of her back, and though it feels like barely more than a caress to her, she knows Alex is holding on with all her not insignificant strength. “You’re not okay and pretending you are isn’t going to help,” she says, and her voice is still soft, but it’s loud enough that it still fills the quiet of the room. “I know you’re worried about me, but what you went through—what you _both_ went through—matters, too. We’re all hurt, and we’re all struggling right now, and you two pretending you’re fine or walking on eggshells around me or whatever you’re trying to do isn’t going to help me, and it sure as hell isn’t helping you.”

 

She pulls away and looks hard into Kara’s eyes, flickering beyond her for just a moment to meet Maggie’s as well. “Got it?”

 

Kara nods—and Maggie must too—because Alex relaxes.

 

Kara’s not sure she agrees exactly, but she is sure that she would do or say anything to make Alex happy right now, and if Alex needs her to admit she’s struggling she can do that.

 

She doesn’t intend—of course—to actually let on as to how much she’s struggling, or to let either of them see the cracks around her edges that she fears are too close to breaking.

 

“Come on, you two.” Kara turns and it’s Maggie, who’s made a sort of nest out of pillows and blankets on her couch.

 

Alex pulls her toward the couch, and before either Maggie or Alex has a chance, Kara snatches her blanket off the back and wraps it around her shoulders again, gripping the fabric tightly at her collarbone.

 

Her cape is still strewn over the armchair where she last left it, and as Alex and Kara settle on the piles of pillows and blankets, Maggie picks it up and drapes it across Kara’s lap.

 

It’s such a soft, sweet, knowing gesture, the kind of thing Alex would do, knowing the Kryptonian fabric means something more to her than just being a part of her costume. Kara looks up at Maggie and whispers a quiet, “Thank you.”

 

Maggie gives her a soft smile. She sits down on the other side of Kara, giving her knee a gentle squeeze, and says, “Of course, Kara. I’m just glad we’re all together now.”

 

Kara isn’t sure why that does it, why, when she had been holding herself together so well with blankets and sheer force of will, those seven words send her reeling, but they do, they do, and suddenly she can’t hold it in any longer.

 

Kara breaks. She can’t say the words—she doesn’t know how—and she knows Alex would only refute them anyway, but they ricochet around her chest, snag against her ribs until she’s sure she’ll crack open and the words will fall out anyway.

 

( _my fault my fault my fault_ )

 

and

 

( _I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry_ )

 

But Alex must know some of this anyway, because she’s pulling Kara into her arms. “It wasn’t your fault,” she says.

 

Kara shakes her head harshly, the sobs breaking and cresting, and it's a good thing Kara doesn't need to breathe as much as a human because she definitely isn't breathing now.

 

“Yeah,” Alex tells her, nodding against her hair so that she can feel it. “It was _not_ your fault, Kara. It wasn’t.”

 

“How can you—how can you say that?” Kara manages, her words just as fractured as the ribs in her chest. They’re almost wrung out of her, and her voice is high and wrecked, and entirely unlike her. “He kidnapped you _because of me_.”

 

“No, he kidnapped me because of _him_ ,” says Alex. And then again, probably because she knows Kara isn’t really hearing it, “It wasn’t your fault.”

 

Kara’s sobs are hitched and painful. She clings to her sister, but nothing, not her sister’s presence, not even her words, can absolve Kara of this encompassing guilt she feels.

 

Alex squeezes her tighter, and it’s Maggie who finally says, “He kidnapped Alex because he was angry and selfish, and he tortured her because he's _sick_ and _twisted_. It’s not your fault when the people you love are used against you, Kara. There are just bad people in the world. And the _only_ person to blame for what Rick Malverne did is Rick Malverne.”

 

The last part is said with such venom, such loathing, that Kara feels sure if Rick Malverne were actually in the room Maggie Sawyer would already have killed him with the sheer force of her anger and spite alone. Though knowing her, there might be some guns involved just for fun.

 

“But if it weren’t for me—”

 

“If it weren’t for you I would’ve died a long time ago on a plane crash to Geneva,” Alex reminds her.

 

Kara frowns. She’s never considered it that way before. She knows, objectively, that Alex would’ve died if she hadn’t saved that plane—that's why she saved it—but she’s been so focused on all the ways her presence has endangered Alex, ruined her life, that she had forgotten to consider the ways she might’ve saved it, made it better even, as well.

 

“Or before that even,” Alex continues, “when we were kids. You remember that time at Julia Vandergrift’s party when I got so drunk I decided to go for a midnight swim?”

 

“In the Pacific Ocean,” Kara reminds her quietly.

 

“In the Pacific Ocean,” Alex agrees, the sound of a quiet smile in her voice. “And you saved me, and then helped me sneak in and find clean clothes so Mom and Dad never even found out?”

 

In spite of herself, Kara lets out a small, wet chuckle. "You were a mess," Kara whispers.

 

Alex smiles down at her and runs her hand up and down Kara’s back. “My life is so much better for having you in it, Kara, and you have saved me so many mores times that you will ever endanger me, okay?”

 

Kara doesn’t entirely trust herself to speak. She still doesn’t feel okay, and she’s not entirely certain she even feels any less guilty, but it’s good to remember that her being here hasn’t only made Alex’s life worse. It’s good to know that Alex and Maggie, at least, don’t blame her for what happened.

 

“It wasn’t your fault, Little Danvers,” Maggie reminds her again.

 

Alex nudges her, gives her an expectant look. Kara looks between the two of them, gauges their expressions, and finally, finally says, “Okay.”

 

“Good,” says Alex, and she squeezes in closer so that Kara is sandwiched between Alex on one side and Maggie on the other.

 

And it feels nice. Not like what she’s used to, not like what she expected, but still nice.

 

She feels almost a home here, between her sister and Maggie.

 

(And she thinks maybe she could get used to this, the three of them. Together.)

 

Still, nothing about tonight feels normal, and Kara feels as if the whole world is still pressing in on her, squeezing at her head and pushing against her eardrums. Everything feels too much and too loud and too fragile all at once.

 

She knows that the shaking she feels isn’t just in her head, but also in her hands which she hasn’t been able to hold entirely still since she got the phone call about Alex almost a day and a half ago. Even despite their tired appearances, Maggie and Alex seem like pillars of strength in comparison.  

 

“How are you—how are you so _okay_?” Kara asks softly, because she feels like she is vibrating apart, and Alex seems so—not okay, definitely not okay, but calm, at least. And that doesn’t quite compute in her brain, because she had hoped Alex was doing well, but with the trauma she’s been through—even knowing Alex and her stubbornness as she does—this is still better than she expected.

 

(And a part of her wonders if it’s just something wrong with her, that she is falling apart so completely, that she’s just somehow weak or broken? Especially when Alex, _Alex_ who is the one who was actually tortured, who actually almost drowned, seems to be holding together so well.)

 

“I’m not okay,” says Alex. “I’m not okay, and Maggie’s not okay, and you’re not okay.” Alex presses her lips against Kara’s hair, breathing her in. “None of us are okay, we’ve just got to be here for each other until it gets better.”

 

Kara wipes at the errant tear tracks wetting her cheeks. “And how long is that gonna be exactly?” she asks.

 

Alex laughs tiredly, and Maggie mumbles, “Hey, I think it’s a pretty damn good question, Danvers.”

 

“Come’ere,” says Alex, readjusting so that she’s lying down across the couch with her legs draped across Maggie’s lap. She pulls Kara down on top of her, and Kara immediately positions herself so that her ear is pressed directly above Alex’s heart.

 

 (She can still remember how heavy its silence was when she listened out across the city, harder than she ever had before, to try to find the beat of Alex’s heart and found only a terrifying, isolating lack.)

 

Maggie’s arms rest atop both their legs, and Kara burrows deeper into the calming warmth of her sister’s presence. She breaths in the scent of her, counts out the rhythm of her heart.

 

The steady double beat of it is like a balm, and Kara closes her eyes, content to lose herself in this moment so long as Alex is safe and by her side.

 

 

 

********************

 

 

“You know,” Alex says after a while, so long she isn’t entirely certain that her sister hasn’t fallen asleep on her chest, “I’m starting my DEO-mandated therapy on Monday. I was thinking, and…maybe you should go to a session, too.”

 

She doesn’t expect Kara to respond to that, or at least doesn’t expect her to respond positively if she is, in fact, awake.

 

If there’s one thing she knows about her little sister, it’s that she doesn’t like to show any signs of weakness, not when it counts anyway. (And she’s never been sure if that’s a Kryptonian thing or a Kara thing, but she is very certain it’s a Danvers thing, and it’s just another way that Kara might as well be blood.)

 

Kara is quiet, but her breathing isn’t deep enough to actually be asleep—at least, Alex is pretty sure—so she continues, “Maggie’s going, too, and you wouldn’t have to worry too much about what you can or can’t say with a DEO therapist…”

 

“I’m good,” is all Kara says when she finally speaks.

 

And Alex could almost roll her eyes, if this wasn’t so serious. She didn’t expect Kara to agree just like that, but she had hoped that pointing out how she and Maggie were open to it would at least soften her a little to the idea.

 

Kara’s stubborn though (another Danvers trait), and when she digs in on something it’s usually damned near impossible to make her budge.

 

But Alex is also prepared to dig in on this. If not before, definitely now that she’s seen just how affected Kara is by everything that happened over the last day. Because even if she _stupidly_ hadn’t realized at first how much almost losing Alex might affect Kara or how much she might be blaming herself for it or all the other feelings of loss and guilt it might dredge up, she did now.

 

And it scares her to see Kara like this. It reminds her that even though her sister is nearly invulnerable, there are still some things that can hurt her, and psychological distress might be a bigger danger to her than anything else, because the truth is there are very few things that could actually hurt Kara…but she could easily hurt herself.

 

(Alex tries not to dwell on exactly how, physically, mentally, or emotionally, that could come to pass. There are some things she just can’t bring herself to consider, and Kara hurt is one of them.)

 

Therapy had come up a few times over the years, but at first their parents had always deemed it too risky—an emotionally compromised teenager couldn’t be expected to gain anything from therapy when she wasn’t even allowed to actually relax or tell the truth—and even later, with the DEO, Kara had grown accustomed to coping on her own, repressing what she could and using Alex as a soundboard for whatever she couldn’t.

 

(And Alex suspects repression has had a bigger role than anything else, if only because she hasn’t seen her sister break this completely since they were teenagers and her panic attacks would literally shake the foundation of their house. Kara can’t have been dealing—not very effectively at least—if she reacts this badly to something that’s practically DEO standard operating procedure at this point. That is, an attempt on Alex Danvers life.)

 

So it doesn’t surprise her that Kara is resistant to the idea. And she has a feeling that it might be a little more than just an aversion to therapy for Kara, that maybe she’s worried that if she pulls that first thread it might unravel all the grief and anger and guilt tangled in her mind. That it might unravel her completely.

 

Alex tries another tack, playing on Kara’s desire to make her happy.

 

(It’s a low blow, she knows, because with having nearly lost Alex yesterday, Kara’s inclination to do anything for Alex will be through the roof. She’d probably cut off her own foot if she thought it would make Alex happy. So, Alex doesn’t feel exactly great playing on that, but on the other hand, she’s willing to use just about any advantage she has for something this important.

 

If manipulation is the only way to help Kara, well, she’s an elite agent trained in many methods of persuasion and she isn’t about to pass that up.)

 

She says, “You know, I think it could be really good for you. Maybe you could at least think about it?” Alex intentional pitches her voice up at the end, playing up her vulnerability a little for added effect.

 

But Kara has an arsenal of her own, and she goes for the trump card.

 

“My whole planet blew up, and I never went to therapy,” says Kara. It’s childlike, almost petulant, and it makes Alex feel like she’s fourteen again and Kara’s just this awkward, thirteen year old alien who doesn’t quite understand anything about the world around her.

 

Alex tightens her grip around Kara’s shoulders, like from this alone she can protect her from everything out there that might hurt her. She’s quiet, because clearly Kara is set on this, and truly, she doesn’t know how to respond.

 

It’s Maggie who finally speaks for her, who says, “Just because you never went then doesn’t mean you don’t need it now.”

 

And Alex is always grateful for Maggie. She loves her, loves her so much it almost hurts, especially today. But to see Maggie picking up her slack, to watch Maggie worry about Kara and step in to comfort her little sister while Alex’s brain is still running a little slow from pain meds and everything else…

 

Alex has wanted a future with Maggie for a while, but for the first time she thinks she might not just want forever, she might want a family, a home.

 

(She thinks maybe she's already found one.)

 

Kara wiggles a little under her arms, and Alex knows that means that what Maggie said makes her uncomfortable, that what Maggie said makes sense to her.

 

Alex gives Maggie a grateful look, and continues. “Regardless, J’onn said everyone involved has to go to at least one session and be cleared before we can go back to work,” says Alex. “Even you.”

 

Which is not, strictly speaking, true. J’onn did tell her that she would be required to be cleared by a DEO psychiatrist before going back into the field, and that they would provide counseling upon their recommendation, but Alex was fairly certain J’onn would’ve required it for Kara, too, if he’d realized just how much this was affecting her.

 

(And if she’d realized, she never would’ve let Kara go home alone. God, she could kick herself, but she was trying to remember that she was with Kara now and that she was safe. That they were all safe. Having one more person go into a guilt spiral wasn’t going to help anything.)

 

“I’m Supergirl. J’onn can’t keep me from working,” Kara says, the words vibrating against Alex’s collarbone since Kara doesn’t even bother to lift her head.

 

Alex raises an eyebrow. “You wanna bet?”

 

Kara doesn’t look up, but Alex shares an amused glance with Maggie, who is trying to hold back a fit of laughter.

 

It probably isn’t funny enough to deserve that kind of response, but they’re all exhausted and slap-happy and still worked up enough to be cycling through emotions like a carnival ride.

 

Kara mumbles something incoherent against her shoulder.

 

And it’s not agreement, but at least she’s not arguing or sobbing anymore. Alex decides to take it for a win, especially since Kara is growing heavy on top of her, drifting slowly toward sleep.

 

She pulls her old blanket up, wrapping it more firmly around Kara’s shoulders, and takes a moment to enjoy this, to just let this moment be.

 

Because if today was hard, there are probably still going to be harder days ahead, and above her Kara is still wincing a little at noises too distant for her to even hear, and Maggie looks as tired as she feels, but for this moment they’re safe and together, and that’s more than enough for Alex.

 

 

********************

 

 

Maggie’s looking out over the sisters, and it occurs to her that they’re so alike: willful and self-sacrificing and too kind and courageous for their own good. It’s a truly dangerous combination, and it is 100% Danvers.

 

But when Kara says, “My whole planet blew up, and I didn’t go to therapy,” Maggie remembers a conversation with her aunt, back in her first few months at the police academy in Gotham. How when she’d been struggling and too stubborn to ask for help, and her aunt had suggested she see someone, she’d blown up and said “I don’t need therapy! I didn’t have it then, and I don’t need it now!” and her aunt had said: “Not getting help the first time didn’t make you stronger; do you think it will now?”

 

It had stung a little, phrased like that, but then her aunt had never been one to sugarcoat, and anyway the point had been that even if she hadn’t gotten help when she first needed it, it didn’t mean that she couldn’t get help—even for lesser things—now.

 

She hopes Kara can see that.

 

And she hopes that, unlike _her_ , it won’t take Kara a string of one-night stands and enough reckless behavior to send her to the hospital to realize it.

 

Not that there is much of anything that _could_ send Kara to the hospital, but still. She doesn’t wish it on her.

 

So she tells her a version of the truth her aunt told her back then: “Just because you didn’t go back then doesn’t mean you don’t need to now.”

 

It’s enough to make Kara pause, at least, which isn’t nothing. And she doesn't agree, but she doesn't say no outright either. 

 

Her breathing is still a little shallow and fast, and the way her fists are gripping at Alex’s shirt looks almost painful, but at least she’s not sobbing anymore and at least they both seem calmer for being able to hold on to each other.

 

Because for all the Maggie had suspected something was wrong, seeing Kara shatter like that had never been something she expected.

 

(To tell the truth—and it seems juvenile and a little embarrassing now—Maggie hadn’t ever really considered that the Girl of Steel could break like that, that even though she isn’t _human_ , she isn’t _inhuman_ either.)

 

It tugs at her heart to see anyone, especially someone she cares about, in that much pain, especially since some small part of her feels guilty for not having realized earlier, for maybe keeping Alex away.

 

And add to that the guilt, because whatever else is causing it—and she knows there’s a lot—she can’t quite quash the feeling that she probably hadn’t helped matters. Her frustrations with Supergirl—not Kara, because in some ways the two are still distinct in her mind—hadn’t been unfounded, exactly, but they had been immature. And they had both been too scared and worked up to sit down and realize arguing over a ‘Who Loves Alex Danvers More’ pissing contest wasn’t going to help anything, and that all it was really doing was making the both of them feel even worse.

 

She remembers saying _“I have just as much to lose as you,”_ that cloying fear when it seemed like Kara wasn’t listening to her, wasn’t remembering that she loved Alex, too. And that was true, it was, because Maggie had never loved like she loved Alex, had never known she could.

 

But she thinks now, maybe it also missed the point.

 

Because seeing Kara now, cracked open and struggling just to breathe… she knows how that feels, she’s suffering too, but the hollow, haunted look in Kara’s eyes isn’t like she just almost lost her sister, it’s like she almost lost her soul.

 

And Alex is Maggie’s world, but to Kara Alex _is the world_. There’s nothing without her.

 

For all that Kara and Alex are sisters, they’re also more than that. Maggie’s never seen two people as tangled up in each other as these two—and maybe that’s codependence, but she’s also pretty sure it’s become symbiotic, and that it’s maybe the only thing keeping them both going now. From the look in Kara’s eyes, she’s not really sure the younger Danvers could figure out some way to keep going without her sister anymore.

 

(And that thought scares Maggie more than she realized it would. Almost losing Alex had been terror and desperation like she never knew. The idea of losing Alex’s sunny little sister strikes a different chord, deep in her heart, and she thinks this is why it’s dangerous to let people in.

 

She thinks it’s probably too late.)

 

Maggie rests a hand against Kara calf, where she’s strewn lanky and clinging across Alex. She keeps the pressure gentle, understanding that Kara is still too overwhelmed by half, but also remembering that she craves touch, reminders of people’s physical presence more than almost anyone she’s ever met.

 

Kara slants her head down across Alex’s chest, eyes lidded and glassed over from tears as she looks back toward Maggie.

 

Maggie gives her a reassuring smile. “We’re here for you, Kara,” she says, softly, gently. “Both of us, okay? We’re not going anywhere?”

 

She wants to say, _I’m not going anywhere_ , wants to make it clear that as far as Maggie’s concerned—even if things have been slow and shaky up to this point—they’re family now, and Maggie may not have a lot experience with family, but she’s determined to figure it out with these two.

 

Because she needs family, and she thinks Kara does, too.

 

Kara must read some of that in her expression, because she gives Maggie a hesitant smile.

 

And they’re going to need to talk—maybe over coffee and pancakes—because there’s a lot that’s still unsaid between the two of them. Maybe some apologies to make and definitely stories to tell, stories that probably neither one of them really wants to tell.

 

Because Maggie has a feeling that Kara isn’t any more used to opening up than she is—which is a weird thought to have about the sunny, outgoing Little Danvers—but if Kara’s willing to let her in, to talk to her about Krypton and loss and finding a home here on Earth, then Maggie can sure as hell suffer through a conversation about how much her parents fucked her up and how it took her years to forgive herself for liking girls and then even more to realize that if her parents were the cause of much of that guilt, her aunt was to thank for much of her recovery.

 

There’s trauma to spare between the three of them, and Maggie knows unearthing it will be painful, but she thinks as far as she and Kara are concerned, neither of them can really know the other—really learn to love the other—without it.

 

And Maggie wants to love Kara. She’s lost more than enough family for one lifetime, and the idea of having a little sister—one who definitely seems to need some looking after—doesn’t seem so bad.

 

The look Alex is giving her over the blonde curls pressed against her chin is soft and tender. Maggie thinks she’s never seen someone look at her with so much love. She mouths “what” but Alex just shakes her head, smiling all the while.

 

Maggie rolls her eyes at her. Kara is half asleep, or maybe completely asleep, on top of Alex, and Maggie decides to put something on to help lull the rest of them off. Something quiet and gentle to fall asleep to.

 

She pulls up Netflix and searches for something, nothing in particular except that she’s stoutly avoiding anything with too much water or violence or noise. Finally, she settles on Parks and Rec. It's at the top of the queue and starts up mid-episode in season four, clearly a favorite of Kara’s.

 

It’s only a few seconds in when Alex stretches out for the remote (as best she can, pinned under Kara’s weight). She puts on subtitles and turns the volume down to the lowest setting. And though Maggie hadn’t even realized Kara was still on edge, she seems to immediately unwind and relax back down against Alex.

 

Apparently, even though she had seemed almost asleep to Maggie, Alex had realized how overwhelmed her little sister still was.

 

(And Maggie remembers Alex mentioning once how overpowering Kara’s abilities can sometimes be, particularly when she is upset or overcome. It will never stop surprising her, just how miraculous and perfect Alex is. How loving and thoughtful and kind, but also confident and badass and so, so strong.)

 

With the show casting a muted glow across the room, Kara breathing deeply finally, and Alex looking relaxed and content beneath her, Maggie finally lets herself breathe. She looks out across her girls, tangled together and sleeping beside her, and thinks that this is what family should feel like—protecting and uplifting and there even when you said you didn't need them. She still has a lot to learn when it comes to loving people, but she’s never been happier than when she’s been learning how with Alex.

 

So, maybe this is family. It had been a long time since she’d had that, really, and it's terrifying and exhilarating all at once to think she might've somehow fallen into this one, with this DEO agent who has a knack for trouble and an alien little sister who hurts and hurts. She’d lost the meaning of the word family at fourteen, and started to learn again with an aunt only a few years older than herself. So family like this, family that will do anything for you, always be there for you, has always been a bit of a foreign concept to Maggie. But now this is hers, broken and a little patchwork, but hers.

 

And Maggie thinks she could be okay with that.

**Author's Note:**

> There it is, friends. Hope you enjoyed this follow up to 2x19 and that if fills in some of the gaps / issues for some of you as well. I am a huge sucker for the Alex / Maggie / Kara dynamic, because they could be the found family trope I am such a sucker for-- I mean, Maggie? with people that love her? Alex? being happy? and Kara? with two big sisters who would do anything for her? I'm so here for it. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed it! If you're following my other fic, Burning Bright, that will probably / hopefully be updated sometime within the next week or so...if I can get my butt in gear. 
> 
> Leave a review and let me know what you think! :)


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